


Oh, Little Red, you should be more careful

by capeofstorm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capeofstorm/pseuds/capeofstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles really should research his metaphors more thoroughly. Just so the Pack doesn't gang up on him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, Little Red, you should be more careful

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to raphaellover for beta and Ameri-pick, you're a champ, Prongsie!
> 
> This story came about after I read one of the WTFFacts on Twitter and well, it was too good to pass up on this silly idea. Dr. Horrible allusions just slipped in, I swear. But we all know Stiles is totally a Whedon fan.

“You do realise that Little Red Riding Hood was written as a cautionary tale to make sure young girls didn’t have sex, right? The Big Bad Wolf is actually a metaphor for penis,” Lydia says, one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows rising, disdain clear on her face.

Well, that’s awkward. Stiles blinks a few times, speechless for only the third time in his life – he definitely _does not_ talk about the previous two times and yeah, probably not about this one, either – and does an amazing imitation of fish out of water, with bonus long arms flailing wildly around.

“Awkward,” Jackson snickers.

“Mmm, I don’t know,” Erica jumps in, curling her hair around her finger, a smirk on her lips. “Stiles is our Red and Derek being the Big Bad Wolf, as Stiles just pointed out himself… it’s actually quite apt, right?”

Stiles sputters at that because – so not the point, so not the place, so not the time. He looks to Scott, who has his head cocked to the side like the confused Labrador puppy that he is. He’s looking at Stiles intensely, his eyes all crinkled up in thought and Stiles knows that look, it’s not a good look, it always means trouble – 

“I really didn’t need the mental image of Stiles and Derek getting it on,” Isaac murmurs from beside Scott, his hands folded on his chest, looking like a petulant puppy and it kind of melts Stiles’ heart; only he knows that the moment he shows it, Isaac will _pounce_ on him – maybe not literally but definitely with a well aimed sassy remark. The kid must be getting lessons from Peter, seriously.

“That explains so much.”

Stiles flails again, pointing at Scott with a betrayed expression.

“Dude! What the hell does that even mean?!”

Scott blinks at him, shrugging his shoulders, that adorably cute grin making an appearance.

“It’s okay, Stiles, I figured you were bi a long time ago.”

“Okay that right there? So not cool, you just outed me to everyone!” He’s ignoring Boyd’s muttered “everyone knew already,” glaring at Scott. “And what does my sexual identity have anything to do with that and just – “

“What’s going on?”

Can the earth please open up and swallow Stiles alive right this moment? Pretty please? Scott’s still smiling that angelic, slightly stupid, dopey grin as he looks at Derek – and that right there? So unnatural. Although apparently no one but him notices because they carry on as if nothing happened. Lydia smirks at Stiles and okay, today she’s at least eighty percent evil. Eighty-five, more like.

“Stiles just told us that he feels like Little Red Riding Hood sometimes, with you as the Big Bad and I told him how that story came about,” she tells Derek with a perfectly innocent expression, knowing he would ask. 

Stiles really hopes he won’t ask.

“And how’s that?”

Stiles turns around and there he is, leaning against the doorframe (Seriously? What’s with that guy? Can he get any more cliché?), dark wash jeans hugging his thighs in a way that should be illegal, the worn, green-grey Henley stretched across his chest, his arms folded, that stupid, annoying smirk on his lips. And the hair. Jesus, Mary, Merlin and Dumbledore, that hair.

“It’s a metaphor for sex, Red being the poor, unsuspecting girl and Big Bad being a metaphor for penis. Really, quite obvious, don’t you think? An interesting way to preach abstinence.”

Oh god, no. She didn’t. She didn’t. The self-satisfied smirk and the snickers from the rest of the pack told him that yes, yes she did. It’s official, Lydia Martin is evil, she’s so evil she probably got an invite from the Evil League of Evil for her sweet sixteenth.

“Ahahaha, what a crazy, random happenstance. I totally didn’t know that’s how it came about and I was in no way implying that you’re a dick, dude, totally didn’t mean it that way,” Stiles babbles, his hands raised in front of him in a defensive gesture as if that will help if Derek decides to tear his throat out with his teeth. “I uh, you know me, my mouth runs before my mind can think things through and I’m really sorry. It was totally an unfortunate metaphor and I really should research my metaphors before I use them, right? Which is totally what I’m going to do right now. I’m going to go home and google the shit out of all the metaphors my mind can come up with, which is plenty, so that should keep me occupied until I die of old age rather than mortification or your teeth.” 

He would totally leave _right this instant_ only Derek was still standing in the doorway and Stiles needed to cross it to get out. Which, yeah, impossible. Two hundred pounds of werewolf he just implied he thought was a dick, standing right there between him and freedom.

Derek’s eyebrows contort into shapes which shouldn’t be possible, the scowl on his face looking sort of shy of murderous. Stiles gulps, a cheerfully fake smile stretching his lips as he considers just jumping out of the window. He could make it, they were on the first floor, he wouldn’t hurt himself – probably – and it would be only slightly mortifying and awkward but for sure less than this situation.

“Umm...”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says with an eye roll.

He pushes off the doorframe and stalks towards Stiles, who backs up hastily. Surely Derek won’t kill him in a room full of witnesses. Stiles closes his eyes because seeing those sharp teeth coming? Yeah, he doesn’t want that to be his last image, even if it comes with the added bonus of Derek’s ridiculously perfect face. 

He’s unprepared for the slap upside his head. It’s gentler than he thought it would be, definitely gentler than that time when Derek slammed his head against his Jeep’s steering wheel. Stiles opens his eyes then, looking at Derek, startled.

Derek’s smirking again even as he pushes Stiles, his hand warm between Stiles’ shoulder blades, towards the living room.

“We have planning to do, stop dragging your feet,” he barks at them.

If Derek’s hand lingers on Stiles’ back for longer than necessary, well, no one but them has to know.


End file.
